


Case 142: Murder In The Meadows (1897)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [182]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Assassination, Child Murder, Destiel - Freeform, Diplomacy, Disguise, F/M, Inheritance, Johnlock - Freeform, Justice, M/M, Minor Character Death, Politics, School, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, farming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 04:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17460950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ One of the dynamic duo's darkest cases in which a diplomatic incident is threatened over a gruesome death (even by Sherlock's standards) over which the killers look set to escape scot-free - until Sherlock offers them a choice and they choose Option Wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyster99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyster99/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

One of the many things I admired about that most righteous of men, John Dean Watson, was that he was able to write up our many adventures together despite the sometimes brutal depravity shown by those involved. I felt this even more when I made my own notes on this case, as even the few lines that I scribbled down made my stomach turn. And in my line of work that takes some doing.

This was another case which had a political angle and concerned the small Grand Duchy of Caronia in eastern Europe. Barely any larger than the Isle of Wight or about twice the size of the District of Columbia in the United States, it might have played but a minor role in history had its position athwart one of the few passes through the Carpathian Mountains not made it a target for ever ambitious nation-builder in the area (not for nothing had the _'Times'_ once shown a map of the place marked 'Doormatia'!). The Grand Duke was at this time one of those many 'rulers' subservient to the belligerent Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany but his small nation was geographically separated from the rest of Germany and also bordered the Russian Empire, as well as being possessed of a narrow Slavic majority, so was deemed important by everyone including we British. 

Which was more than a little unfortunate when the Caronian ambassador to St. James' Court told the British government that someone had found his eldest son's remains on a Buckinghamshire farm – and at the wrong end of a threshing-machine!

֍

As I had told John, my annoying brother Bacchus was barred from Baker Street for anything short of a national emergency. Unfortunately given that relations with Prussian Germany were deteriorating and those with mighty Russia were at best variable, this was one such. At least I knew that after Ranulph our dear Mother had made it clear to her other sons that she expected them to treat me well in future, and that she had just treated herself to a second pearl-handled revolver and a course of advanced shooting lessons. My lounge-lizard of a brother would, much as it would go against his nature, be minding his behaviour in future. 

On a totally unrelated matter, did you know that you can buy grape-shot for pistols these days? If you know the 'right' people, of course. And you also know how difficult it is to buy presents for family members.

Bacchus duly arrived looking I thought rather untidy considering how much care he usually took over his appearance. I knew that he had bitterly resented having been bested by the Falkland Islander Mr. Jones and that he had been greatly relieved when stories had reached him that that gentleman had declined my request as to what interesting information he had on him. Because I had made sure that that was what he had heard. Mr. Jones had in fact told me everything (I do mean _everything!_ ) as he had known that I would only use it _in extremis_. Or if the mood took me.

“This is a bloody disaster!” my brother fumed as he sat down in the fireside chair. “Stupid boy wanders off and falls into a bloody threshing-machine, and Grand Duke Gustav goes and blames us!”

I had of course read about the incident in the _'Times'_ that morning, an unusually graphic article for that paper I had thought. It had nearly put me off my (and half of John's) bacon. 

Nearly.

“What can you want Sherlock to do about it?” John asked suspiciously, eyeing my brother with disfavour. “He can hardly bring the boy back to life!”

Bacchus glared at him. The love-bite I had left on my love that morning was clearly visible from across the room. It was probably visible from across the street; Betty the maid had had a coughing-fit this morning that, I suspected, was not unrelated to its appearance.

“The Grand Duke, evidently being a fellow of little in the way of good taste, rates your stories for some reason”, Bacchus said sniffily. “He wants Sherlock here to undertake the investigation rather than the local police. He does not trust them.”

“I suppose that one must make some concessions when it comes to diplomatic matters”, I said generously resolving that the pest would pay for that slight. “Tell me what you know.”

“His micro-nation has a country pile between the town of Great Marlow and the village of Little Marlow, both in Buckinghamshire and by the Thames”, Bacchus said. “The ambassador's name is Mr. Augustus Sedwill, and he is a good friend of the Grand Duke worse luck. Mr. Sedwill is married with four children, and his elder son Jacob is the one who was killed.”

I just looked at him. He fidgeted uneasily.

“What?” he said testily.

“The Sherlock Patented What Are You Not Saying This Time Detector”, John said smugly. “You might as well come clean.”

Bacchus scowled but gave in.

“That was why I had to dash over here at this ungodly hour”, he grumbled. “As if this mess was not bad enough it turns out that the wife is a 'friend' of Tum-Tum.”

I smiled at the nickname for the Prince of Wales, a wastrel of a fellow then some fifty-five years of age and still little more than a cipher. It was the common (and probably correct) opinion at the time that the Queen held him at least partly responsibly for the death of his father whom she was still mourning then over three decades after his passing. While in what would turn out to be his last illness the late Prince Albert had had to visit his son in Cambridge to reprimand him for his behaviour and had worsened upon his return to London, eventually dying. His widow still allowed their son no part in her government of her Empire despite her being well into her seventies. I could understand her feelings but felt that it was ultimately an unwise act on her part.

“A 'friend'”, I said, suppressing a smile as a particularly bad person sat not far away made loud kissing noises. Bacchus scowled.

“You know what I mean!” he snapped. “Some so-called gentlemen cannot keep it in their trousers these days.”

“I could make a particularly cruel yet accurate remark about pots and kettles there”, I said, enjoying his wince perhaps a little too much. “But I shall refrain – _for now_. Tell me about the dead boy.”

“Master Jacob Sedwill, aged twelve”, he said, clearly glad to be getting on with the conversation. “The elder of the two boys; his brother William is a year younger. Both attend the grammar school in Marlow.”

“Not somewhere more prestigious?” I asked, surprised. Bacchus shook his head.

“They have an excellent reputation since they acquired a new headmaster four years back, a Mr. Stephen Fearing”, he said. “Aptly named from what I hear; he takes no nonsense from anyone and some ten boys were expelled in his first two weeks in charge. And as I am sure you know, that part of south Oxfordshire is positively crawling with foreigners and their country piles. The school was heavily over-subscribed last year because Mr. Fearing refused to expand it despite several offers of the necessary money. Both boys are described as average; the victim was a bit of a dreamer but he worked when he was told. The death happened at Prince Rupert's Farm next to Little Marlow village...”

“Why is it called that?” John cut in. Bacchus scowled.

“I do not see how that is important”, he said loftily.

“All facts have the potential to be important”, I said firmly. “Do you know?”

“Only because the younger boy mentioned it in his statement”, Bacchus said, clearly annoyed that John had made a contribution to things. “His brother was deeply into history and Prince Rupert is supposed to have shot the weathercock off the top of the village church from there during his march on London. The late Master Sedwill had found a bullet or cannon-ball or some such and had been poking around the farm hoping to find more.”

I frowned at that.

“Did the owners not mind?” I asked. “People are generally averse to young boys wandering around their property.”

“The farm owner is a brute of a fellow called Mr. Hadrian Norris”, Bacchus said. “He admitted that he had shot at people wandering around the place – there's a public right of way along the river by the edge of his property – but the one time he says he saw the boy there he just yelled at him and he ran off. He _says_.”

“The public opprobrium from shooting a child would be far greater than from shooting a grown man”, I observed. “How was the body found?”

Bacchus winced. 

“The farmer runs all his equipment on the last day of March each year so he can do any repairs before he needs to use them”, he said. “I thought that a bit odd but I had my men ask several other farmers in the area and they all do it too. He ran the threshing-machine for a bit and from what came out....”

He stopped. We could all see what he had not said. Thankfully dinner was still some distance away.

“How could they recognize him from.... that?” John wondered.

“As you can guess there was no body to recognize”, Bacchus said sourly. “Just... bits. Two things identified him; the remains of his wallet which he had not long been given and was an unusual red leather. And his pocket-watch which survived although it was badly damaged. It had a personal engraving in it.”

I wondered at that. Boys that age did not usually carry pocket-watches, and why take it on a trip to a farm? Unless..... ugh!

“This really is very bad”, I sighed.

“Why?” John asked. “Apart from the death of course.”

“Because of the river.”

They both looked at me in confusion. I sighed heavily.

“If the killer had wanted merely to end the poor boy's life”, I said, “they could have drowned him in the Thames less than a mile away. That would have left no evidence, may well have been taken as an accident and the body may have drifted some way downstream making the investigation even more difficult. But this way...”

“There will be one almighty diplomatic stink!” Bacchus finished sourly. “And the Caronians will feel that we were somehow to blame for 'allowing' it to happen on our soil.”

“Who would gain from that?” John protested. “They can hardly expect our Nation to come to their aid when they are slap bang in the middle of the Continent!”

“But the Russians do border them”, I said, “and there is a possibility that they may become our allies when this long-threatened war does finally break out. Moscow's interest in the Balkans is legion and there are few ways through the Carpathian Mountains to get troops there. Or there is the possibility that since the German Emperor is the Caronian king's overlord he himself may use it either as a pretext even if only for some belligerent posturing and the hope of some concessions from us to make him go away.”

“Our government would not do that, surely?” John asked.

“They may”, Bacchus said. “Roseberry's lot may have won a decent majority at the last election but there are a whole lot of potential problems bubbling around the world that could cause them all sorts of problems. A warmongering Kaiser Wilhelm is an added worry that they do not need. And that Falklands mess made them look very bad.”

If he was hoping for any sympathy over that, he was onto a lost cause.

“I think that we shall need to visit the scene of the crime”, I said. “John and I will go today, Bacchus.”

My brother looked surprise at my acquiescence and stared at me suspiciously. Actually I was quite prepared to tackle this matter for our Nation particularly as I had an uneasy feeling as to what the actual solution might be, but making him fretful was always an added bonus. And besides, the Great Western Railway's first-class coaches were still non-corridor ones which would be... useful.

֍


	2. Chapter 2

It was only a short trip to Paddington Station where we made a train for Maidenhead, the junction for Marlow. Bacchus had provided us with a sketch map of the place and I could see that the farm, ambassador's house and the school were almost next to each other in a line between the two Marlows, Great and Little. I smiled at my love as we reached our first-class compartment.

“Only a slow train”, I said. “It will be a rather rough ride.”

“Why?” he asked curiously. “The Great Western is a fairly good railway and these coaches are only a few years old as they cannot have been built before the conversaion five years back.”

I gave him a look. I perhaps should not have enjoyed making him shudder like that but... oh well.

“I meant rough for you!” I growled. _“All aboard!”_

֍

I silently thanked my friend Mr. Godfreyson who had given me the most ingenious little device which wedged a compartment's doors locked from the inside much more effectively than any coin. Despite the many stops the train made – each of which had the man impaled on my cock whining in what I hoped was ecstasy – we could not be disturbed short of someone breaking the door down.”

“Hayes and Harlington!” came a yell from outside.

“Only six more stops and then we are at Maidenhead”, I said calmly while jerking my lover's cock which was once more threatening to break through its restrictive cock-ring. “I do hope that I can find some way to keep myself entertained.”

“God I love you so much!” he gasped. “Just let me come!”

I flicked a catch on the side of the cock-ring and it fell to the floor. I felt his body tense and then he fairly erupted, his spend splattering across the floor and chair right up to the polished glass mirror on the opposite wall. Impressive.

“One”, I muttered quietly.

A delicious shudder ran through his beautiful body.

“Oh no!” he cried.

“But yes!” I hissed, grabbing him firmly round the base of his cock and finally beginning to thrust into him in earnest. He was already getting hard again, and we still had plenty of time.”

֍

We missed the train to Marlow. We were not late but John actually cried when he realized that he would have to manage the footbridge to cross to the branch platform, so I seated him (carefully) on a bench and went to get him a drink. Sadly the station restaurant did not sell pie but he accepted a pastry as if it was his last meal on earth, looking at me as if he could not believe what I had just put him through.

Yes, I was aware that there was a journey home as well. But if this case turned out as I expected then I doubted either of us would be in the mood for anything then. And the trouble with my nearly always fearing the worst was that I was nearly always right.

Unhappily this time I was to be proven all too right.

֍

John had his gun ready (even if he was still limping slightly) as we approached Prince Rupert's Farm a short time later. I too was wary about the sort of landowner who shot first and asked questions later, but Fortune smiled on us. A young fellow of barely twenty-years of age was repairing the gate leading up to the place and he introduced himself as the owner's son.

“You were right to be wary of Father”, he said. “He has been even more on edge since the killing, especially with these damn journalists running all over the place.”

“I do not expect anyone round here to be able to help much”, I conceded, silently thinking that a few journalists being shot at might not be so bad a thing anyway, “but I wondered if anyone had seen the boy before that fateful day? I am led to understand that his interest in history had him poking around the place.”

The young fellow scratched his head.

“Father said that when he did come he always kept well clear”, he said. “I only ever saw him myself the once, last December.”

I looked hard at him. Years of experience were telling me that there was more. He sighed.

“He asked about which equipment was dangerous”, the fellow admitted. “I mentioned to him that Father always tested everything after winter, on the last day of March. When the police came.....”

I could see the reason for his embarrassment.

“I am sure that if that fact needs to come out, I can make it seem like an anonymous source”, I said to his evident relief. “I do not suppose that you happen to remember the date of the boy's visit?”

“The twelfth.”

I looked at him in surprise.

“Yes, I am hopeless with dates”, he grinned. “But it was the same day my brother came back from university up in Scotland; he'd just seen some presentation on this new telegraph that can actually transmit voices so they say and he was full of it.”

“And the boy always kept a distance from the buildings?” I asked.

“Apart from that one time we talked, yes sir.”

“Thank you for your time”, I said handing him a coin. “You have been most helpful.”

֍

“Had he?” John asked as we walked towards the ambassador's house. “All we know is that the victim knew about the machine that caused his death. So what?”

“I rather fear that we will find the next piece of the jigsaw at the palatial abode ahead”, I said gesturing to a large grey building on a slight rise with the Thames flowing alongside it. It seemed strange to think that the pristine river here was the dirty (though not so much as it had been) river that was London's lifeblood less than an hour's train ride away. 

I kept a straight face as John stepped on an uneven bit of ground and yelped in pain.

“Shut up!” he grumbled.

Apparently not that straight a face. Oh well.

֍

At the ambassador's house we were introduced to Mrs. Heidi Sedwill, an attractive young lady who had to have been at least fifteen years her husband's junior. Then again she had caught the eye of the heir to the British throne who.... ugh! Whatever happened to respecting the sanctity of another man's marriage?

Introductions were effected and I got straight to the point.

“I believe that I can see how and why this boy was killed”, I said. “I am not yet certain however, and part of what I need will require a search of your eldest son's room here.”

“Why do you need to do that?” the lady asked curtly.

“Because it is my belief that there may be something of note there”, I said. “May we have your permission to go up and search, his room as well as his brother's as the item may have been moved there.”

“Not my daughters' rooms?” she asked. I shook my head.

“I am certain that they have no part in this”, I said firmly. “But one must be thorough. One never knows what will come up when one looks... under the bedclothes as they say.”

She clearly caught my reference to her own very public dalliance and reddened.

“If it is of any assistance then Augustus would wish me to permit it”, she said. “I shall have a servant show you up.”

֍

“I do not see why you lied to her”, John said as we left the house. I had indeed found something in the boys' rooms and had asked him to conceal samples from what we had found in his doctor's bag before apologizing to the lady and telling her that we had found nothing. “What relevance does a curl of fake hair have to do with a boy dying in such a horrible way?”

“Because I rather feared the wit of that lady”, I said, “and I felt that if she saw what we had found she might put two and two together and realize what really happened down on the farm. Although she will likely find out soon enough. And if our last port of call yields what I expect, then poor Bacchus will have a fit over how to clear up this particular mess!”

“That would be terrible”, John said flatly.

His sympathetic bedside manner definitely needed work. Ah well again.

֍


	3. Chapter 3

Mr. Stephen Fearing, headmaster of St. Aethelwold's, was everything I had expected of him from his and his school's reputation, a dark-haired gentleman in his mid-forties who very clearly demanded Respect. The school itself was spotless and the boys all polite and well-behaved; I frankly wondered what he was feeding them. We all sat down and I hesitated before speaking.

“I am afraid that I must start by asking a somewhat unusual question”, I said. “Have any boys left your school as of late?”

The headmaster looked at me uncertainly but nodded.

“Yes”, he said. “As I am sure you gentleman are aware there is something of a waiting-list to get into this school, and since I refuse to expand word quickly gets around when there is an extra space.”

“The key question”, I said. “Who was the most recent departure?”

He frowned.

“That is not as easy to say as you might think”, he said. “Last week I had to expel Curtis Secundus for bullying, which was tiresome as I had warned his parents beforehand yet they had done nothing. I expected them to wish to take his elder brother out as well but instead they asked that the decision only be formalized at the end of term. Secundus left with his brother last week and they will not return but technically both of them are still on the school register.”

“And of course you have had many requests for those places already”, I guessed with a smile. “Who was the other boy?”

“MacInnes. His parents died last month and there was some doubt as to who would step in as his guardian, although fortunately as he was boarded here that was not an immediate issue for us. Last week his grandfather took responsibility and he asked that the boy to come live with him in Scotland. He has a sizeable estate in the Far North – Caithness, I think – and since he has no other lineage he wishes tto raise the boy as his heir. I was sorry to lose him; he was quiet but a hard worker.”

“When did Master MacInnes depart?” I asked.

“Last Friday, four days before poor Sedwill Primus met his end.”

I winced.

“What is it?” John asked anxiously.

“I am afraid that what they call the 'worst case scenario' is indeed what has happened in this instance”, I said. “Sir, where is the nearest place from which I can send telegrams?”

“There is a small post-office in the road leading up to the school from the town”, the headmaster said, frowning. “Mr. Holmes, what has happened?”

“Something which will I fear affect everyone, even your illustrious school”, I said heavily. “Is there somewhere that we might retire to in order to compose some messages? Once I have done that I will explain all.”

֍

There were times when I wondered at the modern telegraphic network, especially if that young farmer was right and we might even send voice messages one day. Even though one of the messages I sent had to travel several hundred miles we still got a reply back barely two hours later; clearly the recipients had grasped the urgency of the situation and had responded with alacrity. Ironically the one which had to traverse only a mile or so came back a few minutes later. 

It was for once painful to have been proven right.

We returned to the office of the headmaster and, as I had fully expected, there was a young boy sitting just outside. Mr. Fearing admitted us.

“A most curious development”, he said. “Sedwill Secundus, the younger brother of the victim, has just come to my office...”

I held up my hand to stop him.

“He has told you that he encountered a foreign-looking gentleman around the school grounds on the day of the killing, and that the fellow had black curly hair with a straggly beard”, I said.

He stared at me in astonishment. So did John.

“Was the accent Russian or German?” I asked.

“German, he thought”, the headmaster said, recovering. “Mr. Holmes, what is going on here?”

“Murder most foul”, I said heavily. “You had better have the boy brought back in. I am afraid that this will not be pretty.”

Mr. Fearing looked at me uncertainly but rang for his secretary, who soon ushered a wiry-looking young blond lad of about eleven years of age through to us. I gestured for him to stand to the side of the desk and stared at him for a time.

“Master William Sedwill”, I said at last. “Tell me something. What is it like to murder a boy of your own age in cold blood?”

The boy stared at me in horror, gasping for breath.

“Mr. Holmes!” the headmaster protested.

“The game is up”, I said firmly. “You and your brother planned this whole ramp once you learned of your fellow schoolboy's unexpected inheritance. Schools are as gossip-prone as anywhere; you only came forward with the story about the fake German visitor today because you learned of my presence here, although you had long prepared it as a contingency.”

“I did not...” the boy began.

“You also learned that young MacInnes' grandfather had not seen him in years and realized that he would likely not recognize him”, I said. “Your plan was simple enough. Your elder brother would masquerade as MacInnes and go to Scotland where he would soon inherit a huge estate and become very rich, while you would stay here and inherit your father's wealth.”

I waved one of the telegrams that I had received at him.

“This is from the Caithness Constabulary”, I said harshly, noting his his face dropped even further at the mention of that place. “They took the boy masquerading as Master Stuart MacInnes into custody an hour ago. I would wager a guinea that when he is brought back to Buckinghamshire he will turn out to be none other than Master Jacob Sedwill, your elder brother.”

“But Mr. Holmes”, the headmaster objected, “what happened to young MacInnes....”

He trailed off and turned deathly pale, putting his hand across his mouth. He had got it.

“Poor Master MacInnes had to die for the subterfuge to work”, I said. “The two of you intercepted him on his way back to Scotland and held him somewhere until you were ready to deliver the final blow. I pity your victim whose final days on this earth were so wretched. You murdered him and then placed his body in that threshing-machine knowing from a recent visit there that the farmer always ran it on the last day of March to see if it was working, and all it cost you that time was a pocket-watch and a wallet by which he would be identified as your elder brother.”

The boy's eyes widened in terror.

“Wh... what do you mean, 'that time'?” he demanded.

I smiled darkly.

“Master Sedwill, you and your brother now have a choice”, I said. “The most important choice that you have thus far made in your evil lives. An English jury may or may not choose to sentence you to many decades in a gaol system which is rarely a good place for boys of your tender age, no matter how rich their parents are. I am sure that your father can afford a lawyer who would doubtless adopt the ploy of playing you off against each other, so a conviction might well be avoided on the grounds of twelve good men and true being unsure as to which of you was the more guilty. However I am sure that even then they would convict on a lesser charge that would seal you inside for well over a decade, where criminals do not take kindly to child-killers of any age. Or...”

I stopped. He looked at me in abject terror. Good.

“Or”, I said, “your father could be unwise enough to try to assert his diplomatic immunity in an attempt to have you removed back to Caronia. You are heartless but clearly not brainless so let me spell it out for you. If you accept trial by twelve good men and true, I will accept their decision whatever it may be. But if you try to avoid facing up to your foul and unspeakable actions..... you will never see Caronia again.”

“You cannot kill me!” the boy protested. “Mr. Fearing, help!”

“I do not know you”, the headmaster said coldly. “As far as I am concerned you were expelled from this school the moment I saw you for what you are, a cold and calculating murderer. Whatever Mr. Holmes chooses to do as regards justice is perfectly acceptable as far as I am concerned.”

We all looked at the sweating boy. The clock in the corner ticked on.

֍

John held me all the way back to London. It was not cuddling. It was John being the angel that I am named after.

֍

_Postscriptum: Sadly Mr. Sedwill's father, although willing enough to let his evil sons face up to their actions, yielded to their and their mother's beseechings and did indeed assert his diplomatic immunity in an attempt to protect them. The British government asked Grand Duke Gustav to appoint a new ambassador or face the public expulsion of the old one, to which 'request' he duly obliged._

_A few days later I was not at all surprised to find spread across the entire front page of the_ 'Times' _a shock double killing at Maidenhead Railway Station in Berkshire. Both the ambassador of Caronia's sons had been shot dead. I made a mental note to send an extra-large box of chocolates round to Mrs. Kyndley, who had been so shocked at the whole affair that she had waived her normal charges for the 'direct removal' of two blemishes on the human race._

֍


End file.
